


Tell Me Something Scary

by hazelNuts



Series: 13 Days of Halloween [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison, Bonfires, Established Relationship, F/F, Ghost Stories, Halloween, Minor Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, POV Allison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 18:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11880339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelNuts/pseuds/hazelNuts
Summary: The pack persuades Allison to tell a ghost story.This is the pack’s first Halloween together in a couple years; with classes and work, and Halloween being on weekdays, not everyone was able to make it back to Beacon Hills for the day, but this year Halloween is on a Saturday, and they’re all here. The weather is still nice, and they’ve decided to do something a little more special than the traditional scary movies and stuffing themselves with candy: a small bonfire in the preserve.





	Tell Me Something Scary

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I forgot any tags, please let me know in the comments.

This is the pack’s first Halloween together in a couple years; with classes and work, and Halloween being on weekdays, not everyone was able to make it back to Beacon Hills for the day, but this year Halloween is on a Saturday, and they’re all here. The weather is still nice, and they’ve decided to do something a little more special than the traditional scary movies and stuffing themselves with candy: a small bonfire in the preserve.

Allison is sitting between Lydia’s legs. She leans back, cuddling into her girlfriend, smiling when Lydia presses a kiss against the side of her head. Her face feels warm, and her cheeks are probably bright red from the fire. Kira hands her a s’more, and Allison sets her teeth in it with relish. She’s not really paying attention to what’s going on around her, simply enjoying the feeling of being with her pack again. She’s really missed this.

‘I give up!’ Stiles shouts on the other side of the fire, throwing his hands in the air. He and Scott have been trying to teach Malia how to make s’mores, but it hasn’t been going very well. He throws his stick in the fire, abandoning Scott and Malia in favour of Derek. Scott doesn’t last long on his own after that, and with a triumphant smile Malia grabs the bag of marshmallows. Stiles glares at her, but before he can say anything, Derek distracts him with a perfectly made s’more of his own.

‘It’s Halloween,’ Malia states between two handfuls of marshmallows. ‘Why aren’t we telling ghost stories?’

The only sound in the clearing is the crackling of the fire. They’re all waiting for the first volunteer.

‘I know a great one!’ Stiles says, jumping up.

‘Not the one with the sailors,’ Scott quickly says.

‘Dude, you’ve been vetoing that one for years.’

‘Because it gave me nightmares!’

‘When you were eleven!’

Allison laughs, and she can feel Lydia shaking behind her. It’s always the same with those two, but it never stops being funny.

‘Allison, you must know a ghost story,’ Kira pipes up.

Everyone turns to look at her expectantly. She does know a couple, but most of them don’t seem so scary anymore.

‘Okay,’ she says after a moment, sitting up. ‘I thought of one.’

She untangles herself from Lydia—you can’t tell a ghost story while cuddling with your girlfriend, after all—while all the couples around the fire start huddling together. It’s a little funny, considering that everyone here has faced nightmares and came out fine.

Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath, and clears her throat. If she thought it was quiet before, it’s nothing to now, even the woods seem to be holding their breath as not miss a word from her story.

‘A couple years back, there was an old man.’ Her voice is low, barely loud enough to carry over the wind and the fire. ‘His wife was dying and he did everything he could to make her final months perfect. They’d always been very happy, so there wasn’t much his wife wanted, except for one thing. Because of an accident when she was younger, the old man’s wife only had one leg, the one she’d lost replaced by one made of wood. The _step-thunk_ of her steps had carried through the house and their neighbourhood for years. The one thing the old man’s wife wanted, was for her leg to made of gold. Of course, the old man granted his wife’s wish, and she loved the new leg. So much in fact, that she wanted to be buried with it.

‘Finally, the sad day came that the old man’s wife died. And, per her request, they buried her a couple days later, with her golden leg.

‘The night after the funeral, the old man lay awake. He couldn’t stop thinking about that golden leg. After hours of tossing and turning, he grabbed a shovel and his wife’s old, wooden leg, and made his way to the cemetery. He dug as quick as he could. When he reached the coffin, he felt a pang of shame at disturbing his wife like this, but that disappeared when he raised the lid and saw the gold glinting in the moonlight. His wife was dead. She didn’t have any use for it. She wouldn’t notice. And he switched the gold for wood.

‘Back home, he took an old chest and put the golden leg in there, wrapping it in towels and tucking it, hiding it, between old keepsakes. He pushed the chest under the bed, crawled back under the covers, and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

‘People thought it odd how cheerful the old man was. They kept glancing at him, wondering if he’d gone mad with grief. The old man didn’t notice, his was mind on the golden leg under his bed.

‘That night, just as the old man was drifting off, a sound had him wide awake again. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ Confused, certain that it was just a dream, the old man squeezed his eyes shut tightly. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ When he’d first noticed them the steps were still at the far end of the street, but they were quickly coming closer. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ The garden gate groaned when the footsteps reached them. And then… nothing.

‘The old man shook his head, berating himself for being scared of a dream. He pulled his blankets tightly around himself and fell into an uneasy sleep.

‘The next day, the old man kept telling himself that he’d imagined the footsteps, that he simply missed his wife. He decided to visit her, bring her some flowers, but as he walked out of his front yard, he realized that the little gate was already open.

‘Certain that someone knew about the leg and was messing with him, the old man locked his bedroom door that night. He tried to sleep, and just when exhaustion took over from his vigilance, he heard it. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ The old man thought it was just his heartbeat at first, but it gradually growing louder, closer. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ The garden gate groaned, the footsteps stopped. The old man breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled. Just some kids messing with him. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ The footsteps were coming up the garden path. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ The front door rattled. The soft click of the lock disengaging was like a gunshot in the quiet house. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ The footsteps echoed through the hallway. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ Up the stairs. And then… nothing.

‘The old man did not sleep that night.

‘The old man called the locksmith the next morning to have all his locks changed. Then he opened the chest where he kept the golden leg, and retrieved his old gun from between the knickknacks. Checking to make sure it was clean and would work, he loaded it.

‘That night, with his new keys and his old gun on his nightstand, the old man crawled under the covers. He listened for the sound that he knew would come. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ Far away and steadily getting closer. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ The garden gate groaned. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ The lock on the front door rattled, then disengaged. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ The steps echoing through the hallway. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ Up the stairs. _Step-thunk. Step-thunk. Step-thunk._ Until right in front of his bedroom door.

‘The old man grabbed his gun from the nightstand and aimed it at the door. He wanted to warn the person on the other side that he was armed, but all that came out was a whimper.

‘The knob turned, slowly. The old man didn’t hear the lock disengaging through the ringing in his ears. The door swung open. A silhouette that once was familiar and comforting, like those footsteps, stood in the doorway. _Step-thunk_. The figure was inside the room. It turned to the old man, its eyes cold and dead, and it said, “Where is my golden leg?”’

Allison lets her eyes roam over the pack. Some of the wood one the fire shifts, and she catches Scott jumping from the corner of her eye.

‘I should have let you tell the one about the sailors,’ Scott groans, breaking the silence, and a chuckle ripples through the pack.

‘Ha!’ Stiles shouts triumphantly. ‘That means it’s my turn!’

Her job done, Allison scoots closer to Lydia. She wraps an arm around Lydia’s waist, and Lydia leans into her.

‘Were you scared?’ Allison asks.

‘If I say yes can I be the one in front now?’ Lydia counters.

‘You can be in front either way.’

Lydia crawls between Allison’s legs. Allison wraps her arms tightly around her girlfriend’s waist and hooks her chin over her shoulder. Scott has found safety in Kira’s arms, while Stiles prepares himself to tell his story.

‘I was terrified,’ Lydia whispers.

‘Knew it,’ Allison grins, and presses a kiss behind Lydia’s ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://fandom-madnessess.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The ghost story isn't mine. I heard when I went to camp, years ago. So, thank you to the person who told it!


End file.
